Brick
by springawakened
Summary: The most miserable day of Oliver Wood's life. Based on the song 'Brick' by Ben Folds Five. AU, not an uplifting read. Written for Hermione's Harmony's Miserable Melody Challenge!


**Written for Hermione's Harmony's Miserable Melody Challenge! AU, based on the song 'Brick' by Ben Folds Five. If you don't know it, you're really missing out.  
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**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Of course.**

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><p>The young man sat hunched over the kitchen table, eyes staring at a newspaper he wasn't seeing. The sun hadn't yet risen into its post-Christmas gloom, and so he sat there in the darkness, utterly silent. Oliver Wood was only eighteen years old; it was only his first year out of Hogwarts, and already he'd managed to completely fuck his life up. He should have known he and Alicia could never work – he should have listened. But he'd wanted it to, so blinded by love that he flat out ignored anything other than the idea of their happily ever after.<p>

That had worked out well, hadn't it?

His cat came ambling into the kitchen, announcing her presence with a loud miaow that snapped Oliver out of his stupor with a jolt, his head whipping from side to side, before focusing on the small ginger tabby, who had come over to his chair and was gazing up at him beseechingly, her eyes round. He breathed out, shaking his head as he leaned over to scratch her behind the ears.

"Don't do that," he mumbled softly, his voice not even a fraction of its usual volume. "I thought you were... well, there was nothing else, but..." He broke off, realising he was trying to reason with a cat, who was now rubbing her head against the chair leg.

Predictably, the animal wanted food, and set about devouring the bowl of dry food he put out for her, leaving him able to slip out of the kitchen and into his bedroom unnoticed. He'd got his clothes out the previous night, draping them over the back of his desk chair so he'd not have to look for them when he woke in the morning, but this was something he'd done when still under the illusion he would, indeed, be sleeping that night, rather than spending the entire time sitting in the dark, claustrophobic kitchen.

Checking the time, he dressed quickly, throwing his old clothes on the cold, unmade bed. His shoes had obviously run away from each other overnight, he deduced, as he pulled one on, before realising the other wasn't where he'd thrown it yesterday. Squinting around his room to no avail, he dropped to his knees, pulling out his wand and murmuring "Lumos", brandishing the sole light in his otherwise black bedroom like a torch. It was under his bed, and he distinguished the light at the tip of his wand before putting the other shoe on. He didn't want to see his room. He didn't want to see anything.

Fully dressed, he left his room, grabbing the car keys off the hallway table as he passed. Usually he wouldn't have bothered, but he never felt quite comfortable Apparating into Muggle places. Besides, if it was part Muggle, it was all Muggle.

The day outside was freezing, the cold English air slapping him harshly in the face with each step he took towards his father's old car; which, conveniently, wasn't modern enough to have the wonder of an in-built heater. He didn't mind, though. The tips of each of his fingers became increasingly numb as he drove to Alicia's sister's, leaving him with the most peculiar sensation as he gripped the steering wheel more tightly still.

Oliver pulled up outside, but instead of getting out and heading up to get her, he stayed seated, his hands still on the steering wheel. While it was early, the streets were nowhere near empty – those vying for the post-Christmas sales, he guessed. Gaggles of girls walked in tight-knit groups down the street, children skipped along the snow-lined footpath as weary parents trailed behind, couples moseyed towards the intersection, arms linked; all such normal sights, compared to himself.

He would have been willing to bet that almost none of the people milling past him had any idea what he was going through; none of them could come close.

Life was so fucking unfair.

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><p>The door was shut, but Oliver unlocked it and entered the small apartment anyway, pushing the key back into his pocket. The curtains were shut but the light was on, casting a yellow, eerie glow along the hallway. He walked along slowly, the soles of his shoes scuffing the carpet gently as he tried to tread lightly, and carefully pushed the door to the living room, which had already been ajar.<p>

At first he thought it was empty, but there was a noise from the couch – like a sniffle, a small, pathetic sound. Glancing over at the clock, which told him it was almost half past six, he padded over to the couch, wondering if her sister had perhaps bought a pet since he'd last been home.

But it was just Alicia, curled up into a tight ball in one corner of the couch. The sight of her small, forlorn figure broke his heart, and he hated himself; a vivid, passionate hatred for everything that had happened to her. It was all his fault.

"Lish," he murmured, kneeling before her and reaching out to grab her shoulder, shaking her gently. "Lish, wake up."

Her eyes flew open, darting around before they settled on him, her facial expression calming.

"Oliver," she said, her voice croaky, "Ollie, you scared me." A pause, in which she registered his hand on her shoulder. "Is it time?"

"It's time."

"I'm... I'm ready. Let's go."

He helped her up, and then they left.

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><p>The waiting room was too white. It unnerved Oliver, as he sat rigidly next to Alicia, one hand on her knee. He'd never liked waiting rooms much, of any sort, but this one really set his teeth on edge. The pamphlets sitting on the coffee table were all bright and cheery, as out of place as Percy Weasley on a broomstick, and he'd had to fight the urge to pick them all up and hurl them in the bin several times already. But he didn't, he just sat there next to her silently, trying to ignore the thoughts that ran through his head.<p>

"Alicia Spinnet." It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

The young couple looked up, their eyes landing on a tall, authoritative figure dressed in white. He heard her take a deep breath, felt her reach down and brush his hand with hers, squeezing it briefly before pushing it gently aside as she stood up, wordlessly addressing the man. Sealing her – their – fate.

"Do you...?" he started, getting to his feet as well and looking between the pair.

"That won't be necessary," the man in white said, each of his syllables crisp and precise. "Miss Spinnet, this way, please."

And she followed him, leaving Oliver standing alone in the waiting room, fighting back the sudden onslaught of tears that threatened his composure.

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><p>He left the waiting room moments later, unable to bear it. A small shop on the corner had a few bunches of flowers on display outside, and he headed over, one hand reaching into his pocket to find the small wad of Muggle money he'd gained two days earlier. A baby mobile, two jumpsuits, a bottle, and three dummies didn't get him much from a pawn shop, but they got him enough to buy a decent bunch of flowers.<p>

Clutching it in his sweaty hand, he left, almost thankful for the rush of cold air that met his departure. He welcome the stinging on his face, the numbness he wished he could extend to his entire body. It hadn't been more than fifteen minutes since he'd left, and he wasn't prepared to go back just yet, so he walked for a while before sitting down on a bench, resting his elbows on his knees.

Again, the compulsion to cry overtook him, but he fought it, telling himself he had to be as strong as she was. How she was doing it, he had no honest idea. Alicia was only sixteen years old, not even in her final year of Hogwarts, and yet she was handling today with the maturity of someone long graduated. Of course, he knew it hadn't all been easy for her – her parents didn't even know she was here today, being away with her two sisters in Ireland – but he nothing short of admired what almost seemed to be the dignity with which she was holding herself.

Twenty, twenty-five, thirty, thirty-five, forty minutes passed before he picked himself up again and began walking back.

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><p>He wanted to ask how she was feeling, although he knew he'd never be able to understand what had happened and what would, inevitably, stay with her for the remainder of her life.<p>

He wanted to say something to show her that he still loved her, and that he was still there for her, but he couldn't think of anything that sounded right, nor anything that could properly comfort her.

He wanted to say anything, so there wouldn't be that awful silence, but the moment he saw her, words failed him.

She was broken.

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><p>They drove home in silence, a horrible, guilty, heavy silence that made the car almost suffocating. When he pulled up outside her apartment, there were so many things he wanted to say, but nothing sounded right, and nothing came out.<p>

Alicia looked over at him searchingly, waiting for something; anything, but nothing came.

"Goodbye, Oliver."

And then she was gone.

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><p>He breathed deeply as he made the remainder of the trip to his apartment, focusing only on the road and gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles went white, and threatened to pop free.<p>

He tuned the radio to an anonymous no man's land between two stations, and turned it up as loudly as it would go, so his head was filled with the buzzing of white noise, distracting him from any and all thoughts.

He pulled into his parking space, looking instinctively behind him to make sure there was no one there.

It was only then he spotted the flowers.

They had wilted and softened, the petals splaying outwards, away from each other; they were dying. He had killed them.

What a perfect analogy.

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><p>He remembered the look on Alicia's face, when she'd told him, and the anguish in her eyes that had never quite left.<p>

He remembered the thudding of his heart as he'd discovered the child they would now never have.

It was only then he, at long last, allowed himself to cry.


End file.
